


Vicious Triangle

by Katherine Gilbert (LFN_Archivist)



Category: La Femme Nikita
Genre: F/M, Season/Series 01 Spoilers, Season/Series 02 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-19 03:40:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19348759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LFN_Archivist/pseuds/Katherine%20Gilbert
Summary: This story was originally posted to the LFN Storyboard Archives by Katherine Gilbert.





	Vicious Triangle

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another of the earlier stories from me. :) 
> 
> The following is a multi-part character study set during "Third Person" and "Approaching Zero" and includes spoilers for both episodes. I'd rate it MA-14 for strong language, violence, and sexual situations and discussions. You'll also see, later on, a reference to a mission which takes place between these episodes. It's just a reference to another story of mine, "Profiles".
> 
> Additional spoilers for "Choice," "Brainwash," "Hard Landing," "Spec Ops," "Simone," "Gray," "Escape," "War," and "Nikita" can be found throughout, as well. I will try to warn if any others come up in later parts. I'm also using my own personal speculation on the Michael/Simone relationship and on parts of Nikita's past.
> 
> Although scenes and--sometimes--dialogue from these episodes may be used here, I'm not claiming ownership of them, and no infringement of copyright is intended.

"Sometimes, it's better to keep things primal." 

Nikita heard another loud thud from the room and winced. What crap. There was nothing "better" about this, nothing good. This was just pain rationalized. 

It seemed like she had been standing outside that door for hours now. She could do nothing but listen, as two men she cared about did their damnedest to kill each other. It was brutalizing. 

This was probably the side of Michael she liked the least--the animalistic, brutal one. He and Jurgen were fighting it out like lions, the victor--she supposed--getting to mate with her. She winced again, as another loud crash was heard. It was sick. 

They weren't like lions, really; there was no beauty or majesty here. They were more like rabid stray dogs fighting over a bitch in heat. It said nothing decent for them or their attitude toward her. 

She didn't want this; she didn't want to be fought over. She wasn't a prize to be won or given away. 

Michael's jealousy--his possessiveness had always sickened her. He had assumed--possibly for years--that there *was* a "them," that she was there whenever he might want her--and that she would be sitting home alone pining for him when he didn't. He had taken her love for granted--and had used it--more times than she even remembered. And *he* got angry when, after countless manipulations and lies, she needed to find someone she could trust, could turn to, for a while. He always acted as though she were committing adultery, as though he had actually made some commitment to her, rather than running at every hint of it. 

Nikita heard more crashing in the room. She wanted to cry. She cared about Jurgen and--as little as she felt like admitting it--about Michael. Now, they were tearing each other to shreds, while she was forced to act as witness. 

It was all too familiar; it opened up all her old traumas. She was back again listening helplessly as her mother's boyfriend beat her up. She couldn't go in to break them up; she couldn't move. She was frozen--half-afraid of becoming the victim of their blows herself. Michael had beaten her up too recently for her to be able to trust that it wouldn't happen again. 

Neither of these men, of course, would have consciously hurt her if she had entered the room, but Nikita wasn't thinking rationally. Emotionally, she was a child again--abused, helpless, and frightened. 

The noise had stopped. It took Nikita a few minutes to notice; she was too lost in those vicious childhood cycles. She looked up, as the door opened. Both men staggered out, neither acknowledging her presence, as they wandered past, victims of multiple contusions and--probably--mild concussions. Nikita tried--and, in the end, failed--to hold back the tears. 

****************** 

Jurgen staggered home that day in a mild daze. Michael had been well-trained--partly by him--and was a formidable fighter. He was also a control freak. 

Jurgen collapsed on his couch, still aching. He winced slightly. He and Michael had had different reasons for fighting. For Jurgen, the battle had come from a need to warn Michael off from him--and to force him, as well, to fight his own damn battles instead of sending the woman he supposedly loved or anonymous thugs to do it. For Michael, though, it had been about Nikita and his need to keep everyone else away from her--to possess her like a greedy child with a much-beloved toy. 

Jurgen took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He understood Michael's devotion to Nikita, had understood it as soon as he met her. Her soul was like a beacon; it promised comfort, safety, and love--three things he knew Michael needed desperately. . . . He felt the need for them, himself. 

He looked up again and leaned his head back on the sofa. What Nikita saw in Michael was harder for him to fathom. He had known Michael for years, ever since he was brought in. He had his positive qualities, and Jurgen respected him to an extent, but there was no brightness to him. He wasn't even sure--from what he had seen of the two of them--that Nikita always understood the better sides of Michael, so he was completely confounded as to her attraction to him. 

Michael, he knew from Nikita's files and her attitude, had hurt her any number of times. Nikita was to the point where she trusted no one, saw everyone as a threat; he was certain that was the result of Michael's actions. He had even had to prove to her that Carla was still alive, when he had given her back her apartment, since--if Michael had told her the same thing--he would probably have been lying. 

Michael, though, Jurgen had figured out, had a strong hold on Nikita, even when he wasn't controlling her thoughts. Her bond with him ran very deep, but Jurgen wasn't convinced it was always a positive one. 

When Nikita had come to him, she had been completely under Michael's spell--almost brainwashed. Her every move was being controlled by him; it was the problem he had picked up on from the start with her. When she was threatening his life--blade poised at his throat, the conflict had just been at its most evident; it had been like watching a person under hypnosis trying to rebel against orders which went against their nature. 

Nikita was a killer, of course; they all were, but it was obvious that she took no joy in murder, unless she had been grievously harmed by someone or watched them harm others. Jurgen hadn't harmed her, and he hadn't harmed Michael, and he knew that Nikita knew this. He had had to force her to question Michael to break through his control. 

Jurgen had told her some half-truths and some outright lies to get her to confront her situation. It was at least partly true that Michael was dead inside. Part of him had died with Simone; Jurgen wasn't sure if Michael could ever regain that part of himself. Michael *had* also, probably unwittingly, been trying to kill Nikita's spirit, as well. If she had followed his orders, her soul would have been lost; she *had* been his slave. 

Jurgen knew, though, that Michael had loved Simone--still loved her, he was sure. They had been much alike, both capable of shutting down parts of themselves to survive. There had been a trust and understanding in that relationship which Jurgen doubted had ever existed in Michael's relationship with Nikita. 

Simone and Nikita, Jurgen decided, were probably the only people in the whole of Michael's life that he had ever loved, himself included. He had seen in Michael's eyes often during training his deep sense of self-loathing; sometimes, the man's soul had seemed full of nothing but self-recrimination and regret. It was what had made it so easy to reprogram him; he didn't see anything in himself worth saving. 

Michael needed Nikita, Jurgen knew; the man had been fighting today in order to protect his own soul--which Nikita provided to him. If Michael had been darker and despairing after the loss of Simone, he was absolutely hollow--a straw man--without Nikita. 

Jurgen understood all this. What he still couldn't comprehend was Nikita's attraction to Michael. She was too smart to be taken in by a pretty face, too sensible to be drawn to the dark, brooding man with the ludicrous fantasy of reforming him. He lifted his head and shook it. He really didn't get it. 

He was certain that Michael wasn't good for Nikita. He had almost suffocated her recently; she had barely survived. Michael, too, because of the hoops Section had put him through with Simone, would never be able to express his love for Nikita in the way she needed. She needed someone who could admit to emotions without immediately withdrawing them, someone who could tell her the truth, who could present his love openly. 

Jurgen wanted to be that person--not for an affair, a fling--not for anything short-termed; he wasn't motivated by lust. He wanted to be someone to turn to, to listen--things Michael would never reasonably be. Nikita needed a relationship she could trust. 

With the exception of his words to break her from Michael's spell, Jurgen had always been honest with her--in word and action. He hadn't even decorated her apartment before he gave it to her--as Michael had when she had first received it, not wanting to pretend or ask for favors. He wanted to be part of her life, but he wouldn't fight Michael or lie to her to do it. It had to be Nikita's choice--hers alone. 

Jurgen nodded and started to get up to go see her. He winced and sat back down. . . . "Tomorrow. I'll go see her tomorrow," he thought. Tonight, he was going to go to bed and try to find the side it hurt the least to sleep on. 

*********** 

It hadn't been a good day. Michael walked, very slowly, through his apartment to a chair in his living room and sat down carefully. Jurgen had lost none of his abilities since Michael had been trained by him. He leaned his head back on the chair but then lifted it quickly, closing his eyes, wincing; it was still tender from the nasty blow he had taken while falling. He laid it back much more carefully this time and opened his eyes. He probably had a mild concussion; his head wasn't going to feel good for a while. 

How had he gotten himself into this situation? None of it seemed very clear at the moment. He would have put it down to raging testosterone, but--usually--he didn't even let anger affect him. 

He had been acting subconsciously, instinctively. He had judged Jurgen as an enemy to be killed. It wasn't as much his fear that Jurgen might expose them as that he might take Nikita away. He wouldn't survive that again. 

The six months without her had been the most tormenting of Michael's life. He had wished for death daily--had prayed and schemed for it. *Nothing* mattered without her. 

He had been forced to admit, consciously, lately, how much she meant to him, how deeply he needed her. He was, more and more, facing the fact that she was even more central to him than Simone had been. He reached up with a hand to rub his temples; he had a throbbing headache. 

He hated this growing realization, hated himself for it. It was only the second time in his life he had felt truly disloyal to his wife. The only other time was when he had tried to rescue her, and she had seen the unspoken connection he had to Nikita. He rubbed his temples harder, fighting the pain; he still prayed that that knowledge had had nothing to do with her decision to kill herself. 

He still loved Simone, still felt connected to her. But Nikita's disappearance had made her seem almost insignificant, . . . and he was disgusted with himself for these emotions. 

He finally stopped rubbing his temples and crossed his arms over himself. The overwhelming power of his love for Nikita terrified him. He wanted to run from it, but he couldn't stand to have her too far away. He practically wanted to have them surgically connected so that she would always be close. 

At the same time, however, he had been trying to block out his need, to keep her at arm's length. It was partly fear, of course; he couldn't let Section know what had happened between them because of what he was sure they would do. Also, though, he just wasn't able to cope with the depth of his love--his need. The further apart they were, the easier it would be to deny her absolute necessity to his survival--or so he hoped. 

His coldness, though, was pushing her away. She didn't necessarily need to have him near her at all times, but she did need to have him openly admit his feelings; she needed to be able to believe. Her love for him couldn't be strong in a vacuum; his could survive anywhere. Of course, he got more encouragement. 

Much as he had with Wellman, he was pushing her toward another man with his coldness--one who could show his emotions. And--just like with Wellman, it was making him insane. 

Gray had been easier to take, though. He was an innocent and, therefore, couldn't be with her for very long. Also, as crazy as that relationship had made him, he knew it was mostly a rebound action on Nikita's part, that she just wanted someone unlike him for a while to get over his latest manipulation. 

Wellman, too, Michael realized, had provided Nikita with a ready-made family. She had, he knew, always loved children and would like to have the opportunity to have some of her own; Gray had given her that, something Michael couldn't. 

He thought back to his night on the boat with her and started rubbing his lips. Nikita honestly seemed to think he had forgotten it. . . . He hadn't; he never would. If every other detail of his life and personality faded away, he would still remember that night. As unfaithful as it made him feel to his late wife--as deep and real as his love for Simone had always been, he knew that that time with Nikita had been the most meaningful and intense experience of his life. He would never be able to let it go. 

He had hoped that Nikita would take the truth of that night and understand the depth of his feelings for her. He had hurt her too much and too often for her to be able to trust her instincts with him anymore, however, although he didn't fully understand this fact. 

Michael thought back, as well, to the one truly foolish aspect of that experience: since their night together had been completely unplanned, they had been unprepared and, therefore, had used no protection. They weren't teenagers; they should have known better. He began rubbing his temple again. He prayed that mistake wouldn't come back to haunt them. Section would allow no children, and the fragility of their relationship would have made any choice catastrophic for them both. God only knew, too, what excuse they could have given for her situation, to begin with. He looked up at the ceiling and gave a silent prayer that this was a crossroad they wouldn't have to face. 

Michael closed his eyes. The whole issue made his heart ache. Nikita would make a wonderful mother. She was caring and considerate, patient--when it came to children; she was a good listener. She nurtured. 

He wished, again, that things were different for them: that he were a man she could trust, that they could live together without fear of cancellation, that there were no lies or manipulations between them. He opened his eyes. That wasn't going to happen. He had had a conversation with Madeline earlier which made that obvious. 

Michael shook his head and thought about Jurgen. His jealousy, his fear of losing Nikita to Jurgen was much stronger, much more real than with Wellman. Jurgen was a good man, the type of man Nikita wanted. He didn't use lies or manipulations; he approached her as a human being. . . . He treated her the way she wished Michael would. 

It was all of this, of course, which made Jurgen more dangerous to Michael. Nikita had far more in common with his former trainer than she did with him. He suspected that she had only gone out with Jurgen originally to get back at himself for his detachment, but the more she was with him, the more she would begin to see their similarities. 

All of this had been behind Michael's reaction to Jurgen lately--his jealousy, his murderous rage, his lies to Nikita about the man's past. He had told himself, consciously, that he was just protecting her from any possible blackmail attempts by Jurgen, but he knew the truth ran deeper. Yes, Jurgen was holding Section hostage, but he asked for nothing more outrageous than free will . . . decent treatment; he wasn't a man who would try sexual coercion. 

Michael had acted, in fighting Jurgen, like a man whose life was threatened--like some wild and brutal animal. He had lowered himself, and he was ashamed of it. 

He wanted to try to win her back. He had been planning, originally, to wait until she was put back on full status--till it was safe. He was afraid now, though, that things had changed between them, that he had waited too long. 

The conversation he had had with Madeline earlier had frightened him, as well. She had caught him about an hour after the fight, standing in his doorway, as he walked toward his office: 

Her eyes had probed him. "What was all that about?" 

"All of what?" Michael had responded, like a little boy avoiding his mother's questions. He had walked past her into the office but had turned back to face her. 

Her stare had hardened. "No games, Michael. Answer the question." 

She spoke softly, but she was clearly in no mood for rebellion. 

Michael had sighed quietly. "It was a minor disagreement." 

Madeline had closed the door and approached him, taking his chin in her hand and, being decidedly ungentle, turning the cheek on which a large bruise was already forming toward her. "And this?" 

Michael hadn't answered. 

She sighed and let go of his chin. "You don't own her. *We* do." 

Michael looked back at her. 

"Do you think she's forming an attachment to Jurgen?" she probed. 

Michael looked away again. "I don't know." 

Madeline turned his face sharply back to hers and stared deeply at him. "Do you think she's forming an attachment?" Her voice had lowered, warningly. 

"It's possible," he admitted reluctantly. 

Madeline smiled and lowered her hand again. "Good. Encourage and monitor it." She watched his eyes for a reaction and was rewarded by a brief look of incredible pain. 

"Why?" Michael had managed to ask softly, after a pause. 

"You'll be informed when necessary," she replied cryptically. She met his eyes for another second before turning away. 

Michael had looked quietly devastated. 

Madeline turned back when she reached the door. "We can't afford to have operatives disabled in petty squabbles. Don't do this again." Her tone was warning, and her manner suggested an (extremely unmaternal) mother chastising a stupid child. She had left. 

Remembering, Michael's eyes were growing red. He could sense Section's intentions, if not their specific plan. They were going to use Nikita to destroy Jurgen's control over them. And Michael, once again, was Judas. 

*********** 

Nikita's plan to remodel her apartment with a sledgehammer had been at least partly the result of her need to vent her frustrations. It was about the only viable outlet she could think of; it also allowed her to start doing *something* with the place. 

She stood back to admire her handiwork for a minute and smiled slightly; it was about the first pleasant look she had had on her face in a day or so. She sat down on her floor to rest for a minute before resuming. 

Nikita was in the midst of an emotional battle--again. Now, though, added to her usual problems with Michael, was a conflict over her feelings about Jurgen. 

He had helped her a great deal, she knew--had brought her back to the beginnings of a sense of identity, and she was grateful. She didn't want, however--and she suspected that Jurgen didn't either--to get involved with him based on gratitude; that was a dangerous sort of relationship to begin. She wasn't absolutely sure, really, if he even wanted a relationship with her, although his actions the last few days certainly suggested it. 

She liked Jurgen, felt comfortable with him--for the most part. He seemed to share her feelings about things--or at least she had thought so until Michael's little revelation yesterday. 

Nikita had been surprised by Jurgen's coffee invitation. Her instincts had told her to trust his motives, but the hard-learned, multiply-taught lesson of Michael had kicked in instead: if a man in Section (besides, say, Walter or Birkoff) showed an interest in you--fear manipulation. It had only been Walter's assurances--his knowledge--which allowed her to trust herself again and accept Jurgen's offer--well, that and the desire to get back at Michael for his coldness. 

She had gone out with Jurgen, at first--admittedly, just to piss off Michael. Things had changed after that, though. Jurgen was human. . . . He smiled and laughed. He could talk about his feelings. He treated her as an equal, not as a wayward child or an annoyance. After three years of Michael, it was incredibly refreshing. 

Nikita picked up her bottle of water and took a gulp, thinking back. She had been enjoying the coffee date, which had worried her slightly--confused her. Her feelings for Michael were still strong, but--there she was--enjoying being with the guy whom she had only dated on the rebound, . . . and she had liked it more than she almost ever liked being with Michael. It made all of her emotional ties even more chaotic. 

Michael hadn't helped, either. He had called her in for the sole purpose of getting her away from Jurgen--out of jealousy; her motives in going out with Jurgen had been mostly petty and so was Michael's reaction to them. Sometimes, the two of them were like children, caught in ridiculous squabbles over who got which friends. 

He had still been trying to order her around, too, commanding--without explanation--that she stay away from Jurgen. It had made her angry and even less willing to believe his information on her retrainer's past, when he gave it. 

The computer file *had* scared her, though. If it were true, it would mean that Jurgen--like Michael--couldn't be trusted. She took another sip of water and stood up. She didn't know what to think anymore. She took the mallet and continued to assault her walls. Where did she even begin to build belief again? 

******************* 

By the time Jurgen had come and left, Nikita's emotions were gnarled and twisting. She seemed calm for a few minutes; then, she put back on her safety goggles, walked over, picked up the mallet, stalked slowly to the wall, and--with an angry, grunting yell--swung the piece of hardware viciously. The blow knocked out a large hole, sending plaster flying; the mallet flew straight through it--out of Nikita's hands--and landed on the floor of her bedroom with a thud. Nikita looked at it for a second and then put her hands on her hips, hung her head, and started to laugh. It was the first time she had really laughed in a while; she just wished it had been over something funny. 

She shook her head and then looked up and climbed the stairs to her room to retrieve her implement of destruction. "Control, Nikita . . . Get a grip," she thought, picking it up. If she didn't, she wasn't going to have an apartment left to live in. "I wonder if destroying your apartment is grounds for cancellation in Section?" she pondered, walking back to her living room. Probably not. There were way too many high-strung people in the organization to do that; there might not be anyone left, if they did. 

Nikita started to attack the wall in a more useful fashion. Jurgen's visit, which she had hoped would help straighten things out for her, had done just the opposite. His apparent honesty, combined with his own revelations about his past, had just added to her problems. 

His interpretation of Michael's feelings hadn't helped her much, either. He had told her both that Michael had lied to her--again--and that he loved her. 

She had never quite put Michael's emotions into those terms before. She had been convinced--over and over--that Michael wasn't capable of love . . . except with Simone. 

Nikita wondered suddenly what sort of relationship Michael had had with his wife. Had he manipulated her, as he constantly had herself? Had he stuck her into the same, never-ending approach/avoidance trap that Nikita was stuck in with him? 

She stopped hammering for a minute. No, she supposed not. After all, she had been his *wife*; he had married her. They had even had a child. He must have admitted his emotions to her, then, to some extent. . . . Why couldn't he do the same thing with her? She shook her head and resumed her work. That was useless; why bother trying to understand his motives, any more? 

She had never really had an impartial observer reassure her of Michael's feelings before, though. Jurgen wasn't even impartial, actually; if anything, he had reason to lie, to pretend Michael's feelings didn't exist. 

Jurgen, indeed, had gone further, suggesting that Michael couldn't live without Nikita. The idea scared her, and she stopped hammering again. The responsibility seemed too much. Why, too, if that were true, did he close himself off from her--shut her out, when he knew that she needed his tenderness? She shook her head and went to sit down again. It didn't make any sense. 

Nikita knew, subconsciously--at least, that she needed Michael. But it wasn't Michael-the-automaton she cared about; it was his polar-opposite twin--the one she had spent that night with. 

Nikita sighed, shutting her eyes and leaning back on her plaster-covered floor. God, that night. She wondered sometimes if she had imagined it. It was almost like a fantasy, really; the love and tenderness, the lack of lies, her confidence in Michael's devotion--none of those things happened in reality. Not this one, at least. 

Nikita wasn't sure she could go on living for a Michael she wasn't sure existed--who gave her no encouragement, no signs--except jealousy and brutality, . . . and those certainly weren't enough. She opened her eyes. She needed, for once, to be certain of her partner's feelings--to *know*. Jurgen looked like he could provide that. 

She sat up. God, had she really thought that? She put her head in her hands and shook it before looking up again. Part of her felt unfaithful at the very idea. The rest--well, the rest didn't know what to think. 

She liked Jurgen . . . or what she had seen of him, anyway. He had been kind. He had listened. He seemed to take her feelings seriously--to actually see them as important. 

If what Jurgen had told her of his past was true, as well, then she felt she understood him. He made sense as a Special Forces soldier; he looked it, and--while there was no such thing as a noble way of getting into Section--she could understand his motivations behind the murder. 

If it weren't for the fact that Michael had told her a different set of motives for him--a decidedly less savory one, she could really feel that Jurgen was someone she *should* get involved with, someone far more trustworthy than Michael. Of course, placing that doubt in her mind may have been Michael's point in the first place. 

Nikita stood again and went back to the wall. She reminded herself to be more gentle in her work this time. Otherwise, she was going to end up with the mallet going through the floor. She could just see herself trying to explain how she had accidentally cancelled the downstair neighbor's schnauzer in an uncontrolled redecorating fury. 

Nikita smiled--for a second--and then went back to destroying her wall. 

*********** 

Nikita's feelings continued to war. The real shift in her relationship with Jurgen, though, came when his life was saved by Michael. Jurgen had expected this, but he hadn't accurately predicted which direction the shift would go in. 

Jurgen lay in one of Section's hospital rooms, covered only by a sheet, pondering the fact that Nikita was now undoubtedly lost to him. How could she resist Michael's heroism, his triumph over his jealousy? 

Jurgen had told her, of course, that he could live without her, unlike Michael. He knew this was probably still true, but his feelings for Nikita had grown deeper by the day, and it was painful to think that he had lost her. 

When she came by to visit, he braced himself, preparing for the inevitable. He even tried to make it easier for her, bringing up Michael's selflessness--giving her an excuse. 

Jurgen was a confident man, most of the time, . . . but there were instances when the mask broke, and they were usually around Nikita. He actually looked a little shy--and very pleased--when she invited him to the lake. It wasn't the outcome he had expected. 

Nikita's lingering look at his body before she left hadn't escaped his notice, either. Being evaluated so positively by a woman that beautiful was a highly pleasurable experience. He smiled the rest of the day, the pain in his leg forgotten. 

Michael's actions on the mission against Helix were, in a sense, a motivating factor in Nikita's decision to ask Jurgen out. She had pondered them for some time afterward, and the conclusion she came to wasn't positive toward her former trainer. 

She had really believed that Michael would kill Jurgen, had watched--horrified--waiting for it. It had frightened her. Why would she want to be with a man capable of killing anyone who showed her kindness? How much worse could a relationship get? 

Realizing this, Nikita had thought carefully about Jurgen--about his actions. After he had broken her out of Michael's spell--even after she had tried to kill him, he had treated her with kindness--with humanity . . . with dignity. He hadn't, as far as her instincts could tell, been lying or manipulating her. . . . He could have blackmailed her; he could have claimed that Michael never cared for her. Either would have been simple to do, and he still hadn't. He had come to her as a reasonable adult and explained his feelings--left it open for her to decide; it was what she needed for Michael to have done a hundred times over. 

She had decided, therefore, that she would give Jurgen a chance . . . nothing too fast, nothing too fancy--just a day out in public to try to get to know him, to see who he was. 

For this to work, though, there was a second part to her plan: she had to leave Michael alone--no more asking him out, no more hanging around. Even if he tried to ingratiate himself, she would have to hold herself away. She needed a grace period from him to evaluate her feelings. 

She was sure that Jurgen would be better for her; Michael's actions the past few weeks had convinced her of that. Now, she just hoped that Michael had been lying about Jurgen. Otherwise, she was making a fatal mistake. 

Michael had been a bit surprised, when Nikita turned down his request to join her for supper. She had been trying to get his attention for several weeks, after all. 

Michael knew that Madeline had told him to monitor Jurgen and Nikita, but he told himself that this was a good reason--or excuse--to be closer to her now. Nikita obviously thought differently, though. 

Michael had been caught, these past few weeks--not for the first time, between doing what he felt was safe for them and following his heart. He felt it was safer to be near her now, however, even with Madeline's orders, since Nikita was back to full status. It appeared, though, that he had waited too long; Nikita had pulled away. 

*********************** 

The next few weeks, and the mission which followed, allowed Nikita and Jurgen time to get much closer. They were to the point where they were very comfortable together, and they both loved just being with each other. 

Their feelings toward one another were romantic, but things hadn't yet taken a physical turn. Jurgen wasn't pushing; he could wait till doomsday for this woman, if need be. She had been grievously manipulated by Michael for years, he knew; he wanted her to be sure of him. 

Nikita was having one of the happiest times in her life. She *liked* Jurgen, something she couldn't honestly say about Michael; as much as she loved her former trainer, she frequently didn't actually respect or admire him. She and Jurgen, however, had long conversations about nothing and everything; Jurgen never met her with stony silences. They had seen movies, had dinner, walked together in the park. Hell, it was almost a *normal* relationship. 

Almost. Nikita had found herself wanting to kiss Jurgen--to touch him--any number of times in the past few weeks. It wasn't that she wanted to rush into anything sexual with him, really--not that she didn't find him *very* attractive, but she was enjoying just getting to know him. She wasn't a prude about sex, certainly, and--although she had never exactly been the Whore of Babylon--she had been far from virginal when she was brought into the Section. She had had a few relationships based solely on physical attraction before, where--once the sexual chemistry died--there was little left; she didn't want that with Jurgen. 

In truth, while she had had sex before then, her night with Michael was the only time she had ever made love. It had been extraordinarily meaningful to her, and his coldness since then had confused and hurt her. 

This was one of the reasons why Nikita had been holding back from Jurgen; she wasn't interested in the purely physical with him, and she wasn't sure that she knew him well enough yet for anything deeper. Also, though, Michael's lies about Jurgen's past still haunted her; she just couldn't take being manipulated and lied to by a man she cared about again. 

Her feelings about Michael were still entangled. They had been working togther, still, but she had tried to keep all other contact with him to a minimum--with varying success. It wasn't that she was being aloof or cold; she was just working on being separate from him. Mostly, she was trying to heal--to recover from his distance and to evaluate her feelings for Jurgen. 

All of this was still true when Michael came to her apartment one night when Jurgen was there. The visit had surprised Jurgen, and he had ended up--for the only time in Nikita's apartment--feeling like a trespasser, like her husband had come home to catch him with her. He was still unsure of Nikita's feelings for him, and Michael arrived just after he had been asked--basically--to defend his past and who he was. He realized, though, that there was no way to do that; Nikita either had to come to trust him completely or reject him. He couldn't make that decision for her. 

Michael wasn't surprised to see Nikita with Jurgen; he knew they had been together frequently in the past few weeks, but he was still saddened. He wished their relationship would end, for many reasons, the most obvious--of course--being his desire to have Nikita to himself. Also, however--although he still hadn't been told the specific plan, he knew that Madeline was waiting to use Nikita against Jurgen, with himself as the go-between. 

Michael had no real desire to see Jurgen hurt; his jealous rage had dissipated. He knew Jurgen was a good man. 

He knew, as well, though, that--whatever the method, this upcoming betrayal might prove insurmountable to Nikita in her feelings for him. That frightened him. He didn't *want* to hurt her, either. As usual, though, that wouldn't stop him. 

Nikita was a little surprised to see Michael at her door. She wasn't quite sure what to make of his visit. . . . She also wasn't sure what to think when he left. 

Michael walked away that night feeling like a prophet with dark visions. He didn't know how--or simply wasn't willing, though---to stop them from coming true. 

*************** 

It had been a pretty typical mission. They had gone to a thoroughly remote location, found just enough evidence to send them back out again in the future, and narrowly escaped with their lives. Just another day at the office. 

Nikita and Jurgen had gone to dinner after it, but Nikita's mind was elsewhere. Jurgen was able to get away with so much; there had to be something he was hiding. No one but Operations and Madeline had *that* much free will. 

Michael's version of Jurgen's past kept haunting her. What if he had been telling the truth? What if he *was* just trying to protect her? It would probably be a first, of course, but there was much more going on with Jurgen than she was being let in on. 

She had ended her night with him early--claiming exhaustion . . . needing to think. She was at a crossroad, she was sure; she had to figure out whether to trust Jurgen and further their relationship or back away and return to the endless holding pattern Michael had her in. 

Nikita wandered over to a chair in her living room and flopped down. As much as she wanted to deny it, she still had feelings for Michael. She wanted to free herself of him, but he was like some impurity on her soul; she couldn't remove him. 

She couldn't trust Michael--would have had to be delusional to by now. Visions of their night together, however, still tormented her. As fickle as it made her feel--as disgusted at herself as she was for it, she knew that, if Michael had given her a sign--*any* sign of devotion, she would have run back to him. She shook her head at herself. God, she must be certifiable by now. 

Nikita leaned her head back over the edge of the chair. As much as she despised Michael's suffocating jealousy, his cold distance was even worse. She wondered if he was really as indifferent as he appeared; did she mean that little to him? 

In a way, being around Jurgen so much these past few weeks had made her even less capable of dealing with Michael's silences. She just wasn't willing to play "let's interpret the inscrutable man in black" anymore. Her time with Jurgen had convinced her, even more, that she shouldn't have to. 

She lifted her head again before too much blood rushed to it. Okay, Michael had unofficially designated himself off-limits with his attitude. What about Jurgen, though? Could she really trust him? Or was he just playing her, too? She shook her head; she wasn't sure about any of it. 

When Michael hadn't been able to find her at home, he had known it was time. He could see it in Nikita's whole air; she was on the brink of becoming much more serious with Jurgen. All she really needed now was an excuse, and--in his Section-ordered, Machiavellian way--he was about to provide it. 

Madeline had caught him a few days earlier, when he had returned to Section after finding Jurgen at Nikita's apartment. It was then she had told him her plan. 

Michael didn't like it, but he had distanced himself from those emotions. He had his instructions; now, he just had to execute. 

Some tiny, often-smothered, and weak fragment of conscience in him screamed at this, however. It was this part which accounted for the fact that Michael lived in a constant state of self-disgust--when he allowed himself to notice. He had discounted this voice--and all other emotions--as a weakness long ago, though; otherwise, they gnawed at him constantly, didn't allow him to exist in even a vague approximation of sanity. 

He liked to think of himself as a rational man, but his "logic" was merely expedience. This excuse, however, allowed him to carry out any number of crimes against Nikita, himself, and humanity. 

None of the emotions which begged Michael to have mercy--to have pity would stop him from betraying Nikita again. He had his orders. He called her cellphone to bring her in. 

Nikita met Michael in a remote corridor, as requested. She had decided, on her way, that this was where her decision would be made; she was determined to know--for certain--whether Michael gave a damn. 

She goaded him from the start, trying to raise a reaction--hell, *any* reaction--in him. She was sick to death of the silences and games; she would even have welcomed his infuriating jealousy--*anything* human. 

She thought, for a few seconds, that he might react, when she suggested a way out for him--to order her not to see Jurgen. She was convinced, briefly, that she saw something in his eyes: "Is that all it would take?" She pressed her advantage, clearly insinuating that--if Michael just showed her *some* sign of physical or emotional closeness--he would have her. 

In the end, though, it didn't work. He refused to give her any sort of acknowledgement of his emotions . . . that she could see. It was the final omission. 

Michael, perversely, rather enjoyed the conversation; when it was over, he smiled to himself, as he turned away. It had convinced him that she wasn't as deeply attached to Jurgen as he had feared. 

Later that day, he put Madeline's plan into action, making sure Nikita was still wired after the aborted mission. He got her to take off the vest--revealing herself to him, instead of just holding up the back, as she had for Walter. He forced himself not to think about how he was betraying their intimacy--and their love--again. 

************************ 

Nikita's conversation with Michael made her decision for her; she wanted someone who *had* emotions. She had lost her ability--or her willingness--to interpret his silences; she wasn't going to hold back anymore because of him. 

She changed clothes before she went to Jurgen's; she was going for a casually seductive look. It didn't occur to her, consciously, that she was still partly in rebound mode. 

She had gone to Jurgen's with the intention of mutual seduction. Physically, mentally, emotionally--this was something she was ready for. It was her soul that rebelled at the last second, halting Jurgen's kiss. 

Nikita didn't consciously understand what all of her motivations for this action were. Subconsciously, though, having Jurgen so close had reminded her of what was missing in their relationship--intimacy. Not the physical kind--that was easy enough to achieve. No, it was spiritual intimacy she longed for. Michael, though, had destroyed the possibility of that. 

Michael's lie about Jurgen's past had temporarily stopped some part of Nikita from getting too close to her retrainer; she needed to protect herself from manipulations like the ones Michael had put her through. . . . This was exactly the reaction Michael had hoped for, however. 

Also, though, Nikita's night with Michael had shown her a level of spiritual intimacy she had never considered possible before it. The connection between them was so deep--had been even before that night--that she didn't really want to experience sex again without that feeling. 

What was running through Nikita's conscious mind, however, was simply a fear of betrayal by Jurgen, fear that Michael hadn't lied, . . . and this fear was more easily put aside. 

Nikita decided to try to forget about Michael and his--no doubt false--warnings. Jurgen seemed willing to wait, but she no longer was. Screw Michael. He didn't care about her; why should she hold herself off from this attractive and *human* man because of a memory? 

Once she kissed Jurgen, her decision was completely made. She wanted him. She took off her dress and was then swept up in the moment and the man. . . until the damn phone rang. 

Jurgen was caught slightly offguard by her passion. It wasn't that he had ever imagined Nikita as particularly timid, but having a woman that desirable want you--respond to you that much was dazing. He had no objections, however. 

Standing in Madeline's office, Michael had heard everything. It was a test of his will. 

He had been slightly frightened, at first, when it seemed that Nikita might confirm Jurgen's theory about her disappearance, while Madeline was listening. Fortunately--if you could call it that--she had only gone on to deny any affection for Michael--and to acknowledge none in him. Keeping his usual mask in place while Madeline watched had been torturing. For one of the only times Michael could remember, however, La Belle Dame Sans Merci had learned pity; she allowed him to listen in private. 

He had wanted to believe--for a while--that Nikita wouldn't sleep with Jurgen, that some shred of loyalty to him would hold her back. He saw his relationship with her as a commitment--an unspoken union. He had--in his mind--told her his feelings a thousand times over, in words and action; he didn't understand that--since almost every one of those times had been a manipulation--she found it difficult to take his professions seriously. 

Michael's concept of the rules of this unofficial marriage were old-fashioned: Nikita was responsible for expressing the emotions while he remained cold; perfect chastity was expected from her at all times, even when he showed no physical affection toward her; she should take beatings and orders without recrimination or question; and his unfaithfulness (when ordered) shouldn't be seen as important. He knew he cared; therefore, she should continue to follow him faithfully. . . . He didn't really understand why she didn't see all this. 

He had no view of what he was listening to--Jurgen had kept cameras well out of his house, but Michael knew how serious things were once the talking stopped. He had tried to hurry Birkoff's search partly out of fear that Jurgen might very soon find the wire. Also, though, hearing all this was a torment. 

Nikita's breathing had gotten heavier. He was picturing easily what was happening, and it was making his soul--or what little was left of it--ache. He kept thinking back to his one night with her. The vision of Jurgen's hands touching that skin, his fingers in her hair, his mouth on hers, was torturous. He was desperate to stop things before he heard her moan; that one, small sound would have shattered every ounce of self-control he had. 

As it was, by the time he called her in, his voice was shaking slightly from grief and pain. He was thankful that he wouldn't have to see her again until he and Birkoff had done their work; he wasn't really sure how he would be able to keep from drawing her bone- crushingly close the next time he saw her, anyway, refusing to ever let anyone else near her again. 

Michael put down the phone. He had tricked Nikita into betraying Jurgen with a kiss. Now, he had to go betray them both. 

************ 

It wasn't a good way to return from a mission. Jurgen's reaction to Operations' words let her know immediately that something was *very* wrong. Seeing his house just confirmed that feeling. The doors were open; whatever had been done--whoever had done it, they were making sure that Jurgen fully understood its implications. 

For Jurgen, the events were like waking up in Hell. He hadn't really even feared that this would come; he had taken every precaution to prevent it. 

He had never pushed his advantage over Section; he took most of their orders and carried them out--in full, with precision. He didn't try to undermine them. He just wanted to be left out of their little power games. 

Section saw it differently, though. To them, anything other than mindless, slavering devotion; perfect execution; and total conformity--any signs of personality, soul, or free will--was unforgivable treason and had to be punished by the severest methods. It was why Operations had always hated Nikita; even when she carried out their orders to perfection, she was still thinking on her own, forming opinions. To any dictator, it was outright rebellion. 

By the time Jurgen figured out Nikita's involvement, he wasn't thinking rationally anymore. He expected betrayal from anyone else in Section--but not her. It was only her honest bewilderment and pain after he had ripped her shirt open to find the bug that brought him back, somewhat, to himself. He lifted the back of the shirt to remove the wire. 

Everything clicked into place in the most horrifying way for Nikita when she saw the bug. . . . Michael. He hadn't just been aloof; he had been running another game, another manipulation. Despite all her experience with him, she was going into shock. 

Jurgen's anger dissipated, seeing her face. They had both been played by Michael; they were both his victims. If his life hadn't just come to an end, he might have been able to feel sorry for her--for them both. 

Jurgen wasn't trying to hurt Nikita by turning her away. Part of him was touched by her concern--by her desire to stay, . . . but there was nothing of him left to stay for. 

He watched her leave with sorrow. Her offer to be with him--to help him was more than tempting; it was a siren song. If he had accepted it, he would have drowned. He had to distance himself from her in order to have the strength to end things. 

He was just planning his death, when he was called in. 

*************************** 

Nikita was still overcome with the pain of betrayal when she arrived at Section. Part of her wanted to find Michael, put a gun to his head, and pull the trigger while staring into his eyes. Another part, though, just wanted to curl into a fetal position and sob for days. 

She wasn't going to give Operations and Madeline the satisfaction of seeing her rage or her pain, however--as much as she could help it. She was as calm as it was possible for her to be, while she silently demanded that Michael talk with her. 

Michael had known this was coming, and--although he didn't like it--he was vaguely relieved, when she came. Explaining the inexplicable wasn't enjoyable, but he subconsciously feared far more the day she would simply never confront him--when her trust and love had been completely destroyed, and she simply took his betrayals as the expected way of life. 

It wasn't that Nikita was unused to Michael's betrayals; it was that one moment they had shared which made the pain so great. The contrast was too stark. 

He had already decided how to approach today's confrontation. He knew he couldn't afford to be cryptic or distant. For once, he had to be open with her. Their night together demanded it. 

Nikita was angry with herself when her emotions became evident in her voice. She didn't want to show him weakness; he had taken advantage of it too many times. 

Michael shocked Birkoff by putting him off when he came to get the older operative for the mission; it was a first. Michael had things to say, though, which Nikita had to hear, and he couldn't waste this chance to connect with her. 

For any normal person, Michael's admissions that day wouldn't have been very meaningful; in fact, for most people, it would have suggested a closing in of emotions. For Michael, however, his few words were the equivalent of holding Nikita close, professing his eternal love, and begging for her forgiveness. It didn't speak well for his emotional wellbeing, but the words were an amazing admission on his part. 

Nikita knew this, of course. She was surprised by his taking her emotions seriously enough to put Section on hold for a few minutes. She was even more amazed by his confession that he *had* emotions; she got the message behind this: that night was real . . . and so was his love. 

It was shocking behavior for Michael, and, if he had tried it years . . . even days ago, she would have responded. Now, though, it was too late. Jurgen had shown her that there were men capable of acting like human beings; she wasn't going to give that up for a man for whom admitting that his emotions *existed* was an astonishing accomplishment. She told him so, in essence, and left. 

Michael had been afraid that it would come to this. He knew that--even being more open than would ever be safe in Section--he might lose her; this betrayal just ran too deep. 

It wasn't really that this manipulation was any more shocking than a million before. It was, rather, their one night on that boat which made this time unforgivable. 

That night had seen a silent admission agreed to: that their love was real, that their need was all-encompassing--that no one else existed. It hadn't been a fling; it wasn't transient. To hurt her again after that experience was a sin against her soul. He wasn't sure they could ever get past it . . . or if they even should. 

Michael closed his eyes for a second. Then he left to help Walter with the equipment. 

***************************** 

The mission gave all three of the operatives a chance to not think, for a while. That is, until the bomb's remote was jammed. 

Jurgen knew this was his only chance. If he didn't stop Michael, his former recruit would get himself blown up for Section. He couldn't stop Michael simply by reasoning with him, though; he had known this man long enough to know that. 

Michael was frightened when Jurgen pulled the gun on him, but he wasn't afraid of being shot. Jurgen was too much like Nikita; he wouldn't shoot another operative in this fashion. 

Michael knew his former trainer's words were probably true; Jurgen very likely wasn't going to survive in Section anymore. He couldn't let him just go to his death, though, even if Michael had let other operatives do so before--even ordered them to. Jurgen wasn't just faceless material, however, potential cannon fodder whose personality he refused to see. He understood him, and he didn't want to see him die, if he could help it. 

Michael's willingness to sacrifice himself was motivated by several factors. First, he was the leader of the mission, and--if sacrifices had to be made--he had to be willing to take part. Also, Jurgen was someone Michael respected and whom he had recently harmed; he didn't want to continue that betrayal. Further, too, he had some demented hope that maybe there would be a way to set the bomb off without getting killed; it was delusional, but he still felt it. 

Last, however, and possibly most importantly, Michael felt that he might have finally damaged his relationship with Nikita beyond all hope of repair. Without her, he really had no desire to continue; this was the sort of chance he had prayed for when he thought she had died. Jurgen could fulfill her emotional needs far better than he could ever hope to. 

The events were putting Nikita in shock. A creeping, cold sensation of fear had come into her stomach when Jurgen asked Michael to let him die. She wasn't really even thinking about Michael's possible death; she was trying to excise him from her heart. Also, though, she saw him--unconsciously--as invincible--unkillable. She had seen him survive being shot, beaten, and left for dead; she wasn't wholly convinced that a bomb could kill him. 

Jurgen took his chance at freedom--the only one he saw. He shot Michael in the leg, knowing it was the only way to stop him, and took one final look at Nikita. He had grown to care deeply for her, but they had no future. He wished things were different, that they lived lives where he could show her his love. . . . Now, however, they didn't. He looked into her eyes and tried to tell her all of this, tried to ask for forgiveness. Then, buoyed by the real emotion he saw there, he went into the building to gain release from a life without a future. 

************************ 

Nikita's thoughts didn't stray from Jurgen once after the mission, until Michael caught her in Section's hallway. She was slightly startled to see him; it was the first time since Jurgen's death that she remembered he existed. 

Michael was reduced to hobbling on crutches; it was a fair metaphor for his emotional state. He preferred it, though, to staying in medlab. This way, he could find things to occupy his mind; he didn't want to be left alone with his thoughts. 

For probably the only time in their relationship--when he wasn't concealing himself from her, Nikita didn't see Michael at all, until he called her name. Her reaction to him was the only vaguely encouraging moment of the conversation for Michael; it, at least, wasn't indifference. 

He told her the truth about Jurgen, finally, although he was certain she didn't need to be told anymore. Jurgen had been too good a person, however; he didn't want her to have any doubts about him. 

He was trying to reach out to her--to connect, as well. He wanted her to see him again--to really take him in. He knew it was unlikely, though; he had simply hurt her too much. 

Part of Nikita's mind noted his openness. She was lost in her own emotions, though, still trying to recover from her shock at Jurgen's death and her own--involuntary--part in it. 

It really was too late for Michael's apologies; the damage was done. He had proven, yet again, just how little his feelings for her mattered when it came to his orders. He had betrayed their intimacy; the indifference she had faked with him--and with herself--so many times was beginning to become real. 

Michael watched her walk away. No efforts at candor could save him now. She was happier with the memory of Jurgen than the reality of him. He looked at the floor. He couldn't blame her.


End file.
